


cat and mouse

by suhpremacy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mentioned Nakamoto Yuta, Mentioned Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, References to Drugs, qian kun is an assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhpremacy/pseuds/suhpremacy
Summary: The alcohol enthusiast grandpa and the borderline gangster grandma's backstory is nothing like what they expected.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Liu Yang Yang/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Comments: 14
Kudos: 135





	cat and mouse

**Author's Note:**

> soooo i watched wayv's new video where kun's this alcohol enthusiast grandpa and ten's the gangster like grandma and i figured out i should make a backstory for them :]]

What was left of Kun’s dream to be in the sky dissipates in the air like the vapors of the cloud he wishes to be amongst with, 

and Ten’s dream of artistry leaves badly as the ink of his pen bleeds the same way he watches the victim’s blood spill on the floor violently. 

It’s gray, and it’s dark. The sound of wet asphalt smacks through Ten’s paddled walks with heavy boots clung tightly on to his ankles. His button up hawaiian shirt he bought authentically while staying in the country barely had functioning buttons anymore, see through and ragged from the mud and the grease Ten had gone through. Either way, his hair drips of rainfall and he smiles while he cards his hair through it. 

_What a life._ He smiles, scoffing when he hides under a shed to take his most prized possession- his _cigarette_ holder, pulls out a stick and borrows someone’s lighter to light it up, it’s almost comical when he sees the gray of the sky worsen and the raindrops seem to get fatter, because as he blows the smoke as gray as the sky, it clears with a horrible sight.

“Not you again,” Ten mutters to himself, shielding his cigarette as he runs off the shed, seething through his teeth desperately to get as much nicotine from the dying cigarette. He jumps up a ballard while casually throwing off the stick from his lips, looking back while he raggedly tries to run even faster.

Ten has run away from everything he’s known in his life. He’s ran away from home, responsibilities, his fate, death, consequences, name it. This isn’t new to him. Running away was his first nature.

He laughs at the situation, the rain roaring harder with the whistling winds, when he trips over an unnoticed curb, his knees giving in and scratching his knees on the rough, wet asphalt. He gets back up on his feet by his knees and tries to run away again but he’s met by the umbrella-- the dreaded umbrella, and the cane that pushes him back down to his knees if he was weak enough to give in. His eyes quiver, but his lips smile.

“It’s been some time, Mr. Qian,” Ten smiles, shaking off the wetness of his hair, braving the storm without anything to protect him from the rain. “How have you been?”

“Formalities will get you nowhere, Mr. Lee,” The man replies to him, face stern and cold. He’s been mimicking the weather for quite a while.

“I was taught manners, unlike someone else,” Ten smiles again, carding through his hair. “The weather is quite harsh today, isn’t it?”

Kun doesn’t talk, but Ten isn’t stupid enough to not hear the faint sound of cocking of a gun masked in the sound of the rain pitter pattering.

“Oh, Mr. Qian,” Ten sighs dramatically. “Have you been chasing me for this long?”

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Qian Kun is an established man. 

He’s been known in the industry, name wax stamped and painted everywhere. Qian Kun is not a man to be taken as a joke of, Qian Kun is a killer. With his cane and umbrella and nothing but his snazzy turtlenecks and cardigans, he shows up to finish the job and he never needs to go back again.

“I’ll have to say it, Mr. Qian,” Ten dries his hair with a towel whilst not being dressed with anything but a robe, a wine in hand while Kun holds his walking cane tight. “You are very hospitable to a hostage.”

“I can’t kill you yet,” Kun says as a matter of fact, staring down at Ten who calmly sips at his wine. “You know something I need, you have something I need.”

“None of the torture?”

“I am not a violent man.”

“Well, I’ve always known you weren’t a liar,” Ten chuckles, sitting directly in front of Kun who has every murderous intention for him. “But what is it exactly that you’re going to do to me if I don’t cooperate? You can’t-”

“-Won’t kill you,” Kun smiles devilishly. “But what stops me from killing every one of your assets? The boat in Hong Kong. The warehouse in China. The house in Bangkok. You don’t play with fire if you can’t get burned.”

Ten gulps.

“What’s the proposal for today, Mr. Lee?” Kun smiles again, laying back on the hotel chair as he sees Ten place his wine nervously on the nightstand. “What’s the grand escape plan for today?”

“What do you need?”

“You, six feet underground.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I clearly don’t. I just know that I can’t kill you yet because I need something from you, I don’t know exactly what,” Kun sighs. Ten bites his lips nervously, his heart thrumming. Nervousness has never been present whenever he’s faced with death, but what makes it so different now?

“Tell me what you need,”

“No proposals this time, Mr. Lee? That’s a shame,” Kun sighs heavily again. “I know you know what I need. It’s me who doesn’t.“

Ten’s mind shuffles, it breaks down like a house of cards. He shouldn’t be nervous, he never was- and he knows it was dangerous to keep empathy in his veins, he knows it was dangerous to build up assets with emotional connections to him, but danger was what he lives for and now it comes back to biting his ass. 

“Do you know the story of The Perfect Storm, Mr. Qian?”

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For three years where Qian Kun has been playing a game of cat and mouse with Ten, Kun has known Ten to never face death. He’s cheated him, cheated death in every way he’s known it. When he pointed a gun at Ten’s head, the man only smiled and pressed the barrel tighter to his forehead. 

He knows that Ten always had a plan. With his wit and cunning manipulative words, he’s always had a plan. He whips out absurd proposals that makes Kun leave him again with an eye on his back. He’s done it once. He’s done it twice. And he will do it again.

Kun was tired of it. He would find Ten in the middle of an abandoned warehouse in his hawaiian polos, he would find Ten with a blazer in the middle of a restaurant, he would find Ten in the middle of phone calls, and the same thing always happens. He would run with a smile on his face. When he gets caught, he smiles and he proposes an idea, He lets Ten get away with it.

Because what’s a game of cat and mouse without the mouse?

“He’s given us the route for the drug boat from Hong Kong to Macau,” Kun said, tossing the map with obvious red lines on the route of the seas. “Better yet, he gave us Guo’s tracker.”

“And you let him go again?” 

“I didn’t. He slashed my face and I’m bleeding and he ran on me,” Kun looks up with blood dripping from his cheeks. He grabs a cloth to try and stop the bleeding, but to his dismay, it doesn’t.

“Are you ever going to kill him?”

“If I ever find a way to.”

 _And if I want to,_ Kun wants to add, but he doesn’t. 

  
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Ten Lee’s history is unmatched.

It doesn’t exist, that is.

The first time he met Qian Kun, he was pretty much sure he was going to die. No one escapes _the_ Qian Kun, he’s already an established assassin. He knows that he kills on sight without a final word, and he comes back to his car wiping off blood splattered across his face, or even smoothing out his stupid cardigan’s wrinkles when he’s shot from a long distance from his gun. 

When the end of the cane was pressed on his forehead, his first instinct was to cower in fear. His first instinct was to cry and regret everything he hasn’t done in his life, but instead he grips and presses it harder, and smiles.

“Why don’t you pull the trigger,” Ten smiles, staring deep into Kun’s eyes. “And then count me into the long list of men you killed but could’ve given you something better?”

“You can’t give me anything,” Kun coldly replies, cocking his disguised gun. “You’re no one.”

“Is that why you haven’t killed me right now, Mr. Qian?” Ten asks, fear dissipating into the air, just like how the faint smell of smoke fades away. “You don’t know if I’m truly no one, right? Because no one knows me. I have no history.”

“Exactly why you’re no one.”

“So do it. Kill me, baby,” Ten taunts even more, winking. The smile he had was overly confident. “Come on, pull the trigger.”

“You’re not scared.”

“You’re not gonna do it,” Ten sighs, stating it as if it’s a matter of fact. “If you wanted to, you could’ve killed me the moment you saw me. You’re intrigued.”

Kun doesn’t answer. In fact, Kun can’t answer, because Ten was right. Kun is a smart man, he’s cold, and he’s hollow. He’s invisible, but for the first time, someone sees right through him. Someone talks to him in a way Kun makes his brain work for the longest time.

Ten sees Kun.

“What can you give me, Mr. Lee?”

“Well, what do you need, Mr. Qian?” 

Kun comes home with a list of names, no blood on his hands, no wrinkles, because truly, for the first time, Kun talks to someone at his level.

In a truly different way, Ten’s history is unmatched.

“He’s not no one.” 

Kun sighs heavily, holding the steering wheel tight, staring at the list of names. A-list names of the show business linked to high levels of human trafficking rings, as Ten says. Or what he implied. It makes sense, and it leads an investigation. A no one wouldn’t get information like this. A no one would never know how to peak _the_ Qian Kun’s interest.

“Who is he?”

 _He,_ is Ten Lee.

No, _he_ is the mouse in the game of cat and mouse Kun’s been wanting to play. 

And alas, three years later and Kun’s back in his car, a scar rubbing badly on his face. It’s funny, because he is the cat, and yet he’s the one scratched.

The route was accurate. It’s not Ten’s drug boat, so he could care less about it being caught, it sinking, or the men dying inside there. As Ten would always tell Kun: _I could barely care less. People die in this life. It’d be unnatural if they don’t._ So Kun comes on a boat, on top of the sea, hops in, kills everyone, then sinks it without remorse by a distance. Sooner or later he’s on the road again, set out to find the one who _reportedly_ retrieved the high grade cocaine in the sunken ship.

“I can’t believe he would do that,” Kun sighs deeply, polishing off his cane before stepping out of the car. He’d fancy a cigarette, but he figured Ten would offer him one when they meet. “He made me sink the ship so he could steal the drugs.” 

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He walks around the streets of Seoul for a while. The buildings and their shade always imprinted on the streets was something Kun memorized in the vast time. It’s easy to learn and memorize things you’ve been quite observant for some time, Kun believes. He scans, and he walks, until he sees a classy restaurant that catches his eye.

Without a doubt, Ten was inside, drinking wine, already ordered for two. Ten gives out a hand, waving it in the air slyly, inviting him to come sit-- as if Ten already knew he was coming. 

“What a warm welcome,” Ten comments when Kun sits, the cane pressed on his foot coldly, cocked and loaded. “It’s a pleasant afternoon, isn’t it.”

“I should’ve known better before I sunk it,” Kun tells him coldly, a brow raised up. Instead of humming in approval, Ten chuckles and takes a bite out of his ordered spaghetti, returning the raised brow.

“Whatever you’re accusing me of, I deny,” Ten smiles, and it’s the one Kun hates. The confident smile. The one where Kun knows he’s losing. “I didn’t tell you to sink it, did I?”

“You knew I was going to when you gave me the map,” Kun pressed harder on Ten’s foot, making Ten wince slightly, covering it with another sip of wine. “You don’t say a lot of things. We don’t talk, Ten. We imply.”

“Ooh, now, is there a _we_ in our dynamics, Mr. Qian?” Ten chuckles. “And would you please free my foot? I don’t plan on running away.”

“You always do,” Kun pressed harder, Ten suppressing a yelp. The heavy barrel of the cane weighs heavy on his foot, he could feel a bruise upcoming. “I’m only being cautious.”

“Talking to me isn’t cautious at all,” Ten replied. “And I intend on paying, Mr. Qian. I don’t dine and dash. Now, release my foot before I create a scandal here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Kun smiles fakely, not alleviating the cane from Ten’s foot. “Surely you would understand my cautiousness, won’t you, Mr. Lee?”

“I certainly don’t,” Ten sighs. “Just like I don’t understand how you think I won’t scream any minute now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Three.”

“Go on.”

“Two.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Lee. Scream. We both have no shame here.”

“One.”

“Shut up before I give you a reason to scream.”

Ten chokes back on his breath just as he was about to execute his plan. He raises a brow, heavily breathing while Kun airily chuckles, pulling back on his cane. He finally feels his foot free from the weight while Kun lays back on his chair, not bothering to touch his own pasta.

“I thought so, too,” Kun smiles. “Run and I’ll shoot you. Why’d you make me sink the boat?”

“Simply because I wanted to live,” Ten replies nonchalantly, almost shrugging. “If you want a discussion, don’t be rude and eat the food I ordered for you while it’s hot. Formalities.”

“Formalities can get you nowhere.”

“Then, why am I alive, Mr. Qian?” The smaller raises a brow, holding up his fork suggestively. Kun finally sighs and inspects the food, staring at it for quite a time. Ten sighs again, diving his fork into Kun’s pasta, indulging it in his mouth, staring at him while he chews. “No poison.”

“I figured,” Kun shrugs. He grabs his own fork and twists his serving. “Why’d you make me sink the boat? Why betray the Gongs?”

“I have no connection with the Gongs. It’s not a boat I’m tied to, and most certainly, those aren’t my shippings. The Gongs and I are completely unrelated. It’s a piece of information I received in my run,” Ten explains, not bothering to look up at Kun. “It’s a chew bone you stack in a cupboard and throw to a rabid dog when it comes attacking you, Mr. Qian. I’ve been informed you’ve been hunting down boat routes for quite a while now.”

“So you sold the information for the price of your life?”

“What wouldn’t you sell for your life?” Ten raised a brow. “I heard the contents were stolen, though. So whatever you’re accusing me of, I didn’t steal it. I don’t affiliate myself with dirty work.”

“Your nature of work is dirty,” Kun scoffs, making Ten stop momentarily from his action.

“And you are so, squeaky clean, then,” Ten sarcastically replies. “So squeaky clean, mind telling me how many people you’ve wiped off?”

“We are not the same,” Kun claps back through gritted teeth, which only makes Ten giggle.

“What makes you so different from me, Mr. Qian? You’re a murderer,” Ten laughs at him. “I lead people to their death, because I sell them to you. You kill them. You’re just as deep in the mud as I am, Mr. Qian. So you can pretend wallowing in your fake morals, continue pretending you’re in a different, superior level of scum in this world, but we are not different. You’re just as bad as I am.”

Kun doesn’t reply, but Ten feels the cane rest on his thigh now, the barrel directly pressing on the skin of his stomach. It’s cold, it’s churning. 

“Why haven’t you killed me, Mr. Qian?” Ten asks genuinely, and it’s only a matter of time before Kun realizes he’s done eating. Ten leans forward to him, a glass of wine nestled in his hand. 

“Because you’re important,” Kun replies quickly. It’s the truth, anyways. Kun doesn’t bother to lie. _Because you’re my mouse._

“I really am not,” Ten giggles. “You have pins everywhere, you have snitches. You’ve got moles. You have insiders. Mr. Qian, we’ve been playing tag for three years already. Why haven’t you killed me yet? Why didn’t you kill me three years ago in Hawaii?”

“You’re interesting,” Kun says honestly. There’s no point in lying. “Because you always find a way to get out. You’re smart.”

“Wrong,” Ten snaps his fingers, and Kun furrows his brows. “The answer is, you don’t want to kill me.”

“Correct,” Kun claps back, making Ten’s eyes as wide as possible from the shock. “Because I want you to know that you’re living because of me. Because I let you live. Because I wanna keep on catching and letting you go. I wanna continue playing hide and seek with you. Because I wanna make you feel like I need you, but really, we’re just playing a game. I don’t want to kill you _yet._ But when I’m done with you--”

Kun pulls back his cane, dragging out his chair. His pasta remains unfinished, but he walks over Ten, holds his shoulder as he drops down to his ear--

“--I will kill you, and I’ll kill you slow.”

The taller chuckles and pats Ten’s shoulder, smiling at him. Gone was the Ten who was cocky, and sure of himself he’d get away from Kun’s hold every time. Gone was the confidence Ten had over Kun. Gone was the faux power Ten felt he had on Kun.

“I’ll see you soon, Mr. Lee. Thank you for the meal.”

For the first time in three years, Ten’s afraid of Kun. And it’s a fear he’s never known before.

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 _It’s not normal_ , Kun thinks. It’s peculiar that he’s in the mansion more often now, it’s completely unsettling that the last dinner he had with Ten was the one where he countlessly threatened his life. He was telling the truth, though; he is not the one who stole the cocaine, because when he visits a penthouse in Gangnam and there’s hammered A-listers scattered everywhere, he lets it known that it’s a horrible attempt of the Chois’ to get back supplying people who pay good money.

Kun puts a bullet in Choi Siwon’s brains. He waits for Ten to pop up and say _I told you so._

But nothing happens. He waited for the boat in Macau, he flew to the house in Bangkok, the warehouse in China, and nothing. Ten disappeared, just like he’s never appeared in history.

 _Concerning._ Kun thinks it’s concerning. He thought of Ten dying in the hands of the others, and it’s a horrible thought. Kun promised himself he’d kill Ten when he’s tired of him. Kun should be the only person to ever kill Ten- until he realized that Ten won’t allow himself to be killed. He won’t allow himself to ever have someone hold an authority of power over him. 

Until Kun realizes that feeling in his chest. It’s _worry._

“Where the fuck is he?” Kun rages inside. It’s been 10 months since he’s last seen Ten. The scar on his face still lingers, and it burns every time he thinks of Ten. Some days, it’s all Kun thinks about.

_Why isn’t he active? Is he dead? Why haven’t I received any news about new drug shipments?_

His car, the one he calls _Bella,_ has seen Kun grow up. In every part and aspect. She’s seen Kun drenched in blood. She’s seen Kun wounded up. She’s seen Kun cry when he first killed a man. She’s seen Kun tie up and throw someone in the trunk. She’s seen Kun tie someone up in the backseat, ask for information before Kun shoots and blood splatters everywhere.

But Bella has never seen Kun worried.

Bella has never seen Kun attached.

 _It’s a first for all,_ he thinks. Kun doesn’t stay in the mansion anymore, not when he can’t stand waking up with his hands clean. When a cat doesn’t chase a mouse anymore, it loses its instinct. He tries to distract himself by taking up a couple of jobs in Tokyo and Jakarta, but it isn’t the same. When Kun lets them talk, they beg for forgiveness. None of what Ten says that makes Kun think.

“Take whatever you need. I’ve been clean for three months, just please take whatever you need. I haven’t ran. I have a job, I-”

“I don’t care,” Kun replies, cocking his gun and pointing it up at the frightened man. “Clean, huh? Good for you.”

“Don’t kill me,” The man almost sobs, hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “Please, I’m trying to change-- I-- What do you need, please..”

“Where’s Ten?” Kun raises his brow. The man furrows his, gulping, confusion everywhere his face. “Location. Exact. I know you know it. They pointed me to you. Unless you’re not Nakamoto Yuta.”

“What? Ten?” The man’s expression continues to be baffled. Kun tilts his head, just as how he presses his gun nearer to him. “Okay! Okay, um-- Ten’s in Osaka--”  
  
“Why the fuck would he be in Osaka? What’s his job there? Whose boat did he dock-”

“He didn’t dock on a boat,” Yuta breathes out shakily when Kun retrieves his gun, lowering it down. “He doesn’t have a job. He wanted to disappear.”

“He’s already invisible.”

“Not invisible enough,” Yuta corrects. “He- he-- he came to me one day, and he grabbed his keys and he told me he was flying to Osaka, and don’t-- don’t tell anyone.”

“Why the fuck would he be in Osaka?”

“Because-- because I used to have a house-- We used to live there, in Osaka. I’ll-- I’ll give you the address, just please don’t kill me. I haven’t seen Ten in almost a year, I have nothing to do with him.”

The next thing Kun realizes is that he’s flying a plane to Osaka, and he’s wondering why the hell is he here instead of taking on that job in Pakistan. It was great money, but no. He chose to fly over to Osaka and borrow his former client’s private gate in Japan for a stupid game of cat and mouse.

He’s been in Osaka for quite some time, just not long enough for Kun to appreciate how pretty it actually was. He can see why Ten chose Osaka, instead of choosing his assets in Manila, in Hong Kong, in Macau, or simply just living in Bangkok. If you want to get lost, get lost in the thick trees of Osaka. 

The house was smaller than Kun expected. It looked.. Vintage, that is. Too old-fashioned. It looks like it’s built by a war veteran in World War 2 with all the woodworks and the bonsai. It’s small, but it’s also cozy, he expected a full blown mansion if it’s according to Kun’s definition of a house. There’s a small koi pond by the side, and the wood staircases leading to the door is definitely screaming _oriental._

Kun knocks. 

He’s nervous. He’s not impolite, but he never knocks. He usually just opens and he shoots.

When someone opens the door, he wished Yuta gave him a wrong address, he wished that it’s an old, elderly widow grandma that greets him, and tells him it’s the wrong house. He doesn’t want to be correct, just for this time. He thinks it’s humiliating that Kun chased Ten in the wrong context, all because he’s worried for someone he should’ve killed. It hurts Kun’s pride that at the end of the day, it really was Ten who held power in their dynamic, even if Kun holds the gun.

But no, Ten answers.

“Mr. Qian-”

“Where have you been?” Kun asks fastly, his jaw dropping immediately. 

His heart pounds. For so long he’s always seen Ten dressed either raggedly, or casually, but now he just sees Ten in a simple cozy robe, socks with traditional Japanese slippers clipped in between his toes.

“Why are you here?” Ten asks. His heart pounds harder, he’s supposed to be scared, he’s supposed to be in fear. But something about the can Kun holds doesn’t scare him anymore. It’s the way Kun’s face is nothing but concerned.

“Because- I- Bec--” Kun stammers, fixing his tie. He can’t speak. He could only look at Ten. _He’s not dead, thank God. I can still kill him._ “Can I come in?”

“Until when are you gonna keep chasing me, Mr. Qian?” Ten asks sweetly, smiling. Kun breaks into a smile, instinctively looking down in embarrassment.

“Kun,” He replies, looking back up. Ten’s breath hitches. “It’s Kun.”

“Well, how long are you gonna stand outside, Kun?” Ten chuckles at him. “It’s almost winter. You must be cold outside.”

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“Why did you come here?” Ten asks genuinely, setting the tea tray on the small floor table where Kun sits cross legged. He bites back to ask where he got the new scar on his fist. 

“Because I missed you,” Kun sighs defeatedly. “And I envy the fact that you could just drop everything you’ve worked for and live as an oriental man in Osaka.”

Ten chuckles, sitting in front of Kun, grabbing his own teacup-- but he doesn’t respond. Because it’s a different _Mr. Qian_ in front of him. _It’s weird to see him without his cane,_ he thinks, _but it’s even weirder that he doesn’t want to kill me._

“Was it because of me?” Kun looks back up, getting his own teacup. Ten smiles at him, looking back down.

“What?”

“Did you leave because of what I said during the dinner?’

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to kill you anymore.”

“If you wanted to, you could’ve shot me at the front door,” Ten replies, exhaling. “It’s not because I was scared of you killing me. It’s because I was fed up of.. I was fed up with running away. I was sick and tired of living because I was scamming people with information, I was tired of indirectly murdering people at my own expense. We all die. It’s unnatural if we don’t. So why do I fear death so much?”

“Is that why you ran? So you could become some type of.. Koi man?”

“I guess you could say that,” Ten chuckles again. “Kun, why are you here?”

“Because I miss you,” Kun repeats. “And I mean it. I can’t get back to work without you, I miss chasing you.”

“Here you go, you’ve chased me to a dead end point. You can point your cane at my forehead now.”

“I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want to chase you anymore,” Kun closes his eyes, face buried in his palms. “I was worried. I thought you were dead. I- I don’t know what I’m feeling. I fucking hate it.”

“You don’t want me dead?”

“I never did,” Kun’s voice was muffled. Ten could see the frustration from where he’s drinking his tea. “I just want to be with you.”

And there it was.

Kun finally said it.

“I just don’t want you away from me again,” Kun sighs deeply. “I- I thought Guo killed you. Or the Gongs finally catched up to you. I couldn’t-- I spent months trying to find your body in the sea, and I- I just--”

“Are you crying?”

“I was scared,” Kun finally looks back up, eyes welled with tears, red. Ten almost drops his tea. “I was really scared. I thought I was just jealous because they killed you first. I thought it’s because I wanted to kill you myself. But I was scared, and I was scared for the first time. I just don’t want to lose you again. I can’t be scared again.”

Kun hears nothing, sees nothing when he’s back to crying in his own palms, utterly humiliated by his feelings. He wasn’t supposed to be scared, he’s never supposed to feel attached to whoever he was hunting down; but for the past 3 years where Kun endlessly chases Ten, all the times where they ate dinner together, where Kun corners Ten in a hotel room, where they talk and propose, Kun knew Ten little by little. And it’s the learning process Kun was addicted to-- so when the one he was chasing suddenly disappears, he looks around where he ran and realizes he’s _lost._

When he feels Ten’s fingertips touch his cheek, it feels nothing like a threat. It doesn’t feel like a murderous touch, it’s so gentle-- Kun feels like he’d break underneath it. Right now, he feels like this is his best vulnerability, because his heart won’t stop pounding, and he melts under Ten’s touch. When back then he thinks this is a moment where Ten can snap his neck, Kun just doesn’t think of anything now.

“Kun,” Ten calls out, his fingers guiding Kun to face him. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Kun brokenly replies. “You know I can’t, Ten.”

“Tokyo. Moscow. Ho Chi Minh. Beijing. Wenzhou. Bangkok. Sydney. Los Angeles. Jakarta. And supposed to be Pakistan,” Ten enumerates, making Kun flinch from his touch, brows knit together. It’s all where his past missions have been located ever since Ten left. One city per month. “I’ve been watching you, too. What’s a mouse gotta do without the cat?”

“I can’t,” Kun continues to cry. “Ten, I-”

His lips were warm. It tastes like tea, but Kun could still taste the past memories of cigarettes and wine he used to hit. The lips he recklessly opens to spill a thousand secrets, the lips he carefully closes when he needs to hold information to live. It feels like silk, against Kun’s. It feels warm, nothing like the coldness of the cane he holds everywhere. It’s so warm it reaches Kun's heart, it flips his stomach, and he loses himself in it.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Kun pulls away, breathing heavily. “I’m scared.”

“So stay,” Ten says, almost pleading, almost begging. “Stay with me.”

When Kun doesn’t know what to say, what to respond, he presses his lips on Ten’s again, searching for the warmth he’s been yearning for so long.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Baba. Hey. Are you still with me?”

Kun blinks again, clutching the wine tighter as he snaps back to his own reality. He sees Yangyang wave his hand in front of him, brows knit together in confusion as he blinks through reality, not quite enjoying the trip down memory lane.

“What was it again?” Kun asks, raising his brows. He could hear Yangyang sigh even deeper. “Stop blaming me. I’m old and I have problems.”

“I said, how did you meet dad,” Yangyang repeats, almost rolling his eyes. Kun smiles at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“I don’t remember,” Kun chuckles, looking down. 

“You don’t remember?!”

“I’m old and I have problems, Yangyang!” Kun yells back playfully, and it’s only a matter of time before Ten gets off a phone call, smiling at the both of them. “Oh God, please discipline your son better.”

“What did you ask your baba that got him so mad, anyway?” Ten asks sweetly, draping his arms over Yangyang (even if he’s a little bit taller than him now today). Yangyang faces him with an expression of disbelief.

“I asked him how he met you, and he said he doesn’t remember!” Yangyang says in utter disbelief. Ten spares Kun a glance, smiling at him, suppressing a laugh.

“To be honest, baobei,” Ten sighs as well, smile not wearing off his face. “I don’t remember, either.”

“So you guys just magically happened?” Yangyang almost screams in frustration and confusion. Kun and Ten both burst out in laughter, while Ten nods and assures his son. “How could you even forget that?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Ten laughs, pinching Yangyang’s cheeks. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to pick up Hendery right now? The oven’s gonna ring any time soon.”

“Oh shi-”

“Language.”

“I didn’t even finish, Baba!” Yangyang complains again as he runs to the coat hanger, wearing his jacket and hat. “I gotta go pick my boyfriend up! Please don’t be weird over dinner!”

The faint rumbling of Yangyang’s motorcycle purrs outside, growling louder when he drives it away, until it really is only Ten and Kun left in their household. They exchange knowing glances, but it’s Ten who breaks into laughter first.

“What was I supposed to say?” Kun says hopelessly, shoulders slumped. “Oh, your dad? I met him on a beach in Hawaii where he was supposed to run off with 70 kilograms of weed and high grade meth! I was supposed to kill him, but then he gave me the names of the people behind the shipments and a human trafficking ring-”

“--I know, I know. But you could’ve stopped in Hawaii!” Ten laughs even more as he slouches beside Kun on the couch, nuzzling on his chest. “No need to mention the rings and the drugs.”

“How am I supposed to tell him that I literally attempted to kill you for 3 years?” Kun lets his hand rest on Ten’s hair, carding it softly, threading his fingers through the strand. “Every day I thank God that Yangyang and Hendery met in like, a school dance. No need for those dramatic _I will kill you_ and all that shit.”

“You did sorta kill all the people who tried to come near us, you know,” Ten purrs on his husband’s chest, running his fingers on the rough fabric of his sweater. “At least the only thing we fight about now is that whose turn is it to wash the dishes, and not contemplating whether I made you sink the Gongs’ ship so I could steal the cocaine.”

“You still remember that?”

“How can I forget? You literally told me you’d kill me!”

“I always tell you I’d kill you! I shot you on your shoulder once!”

“Oh, and you’re proud of that?”

“You sliced my face with a letter opener!” 

“That’s because you were choking me with my robe belt!”

“Jesus Christ, were we really that violent?” Kun sighs, stopping momentarily on carding Ten’s hair. The smaller looks back up at him, smiling, inching upwards to place a gentle kiss on Kun’s lips. “Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“Sometimes I stare at Yangyang and think if he’s real,” Ten chuckles, a smile spread on his lips. “And when I do think, I think about: _Did I really just marry the man who tried to kill me for three years and then proceeded to have a baby with him when he found me in Osaka?_ And what can you say, the answer is yes.”

Kun doesn’t even feel the time slip through his fingers, because when he’s at the brink of falling asleep with Ten on the couch, the doorbell rings. Ten magically gets up, pushing himself off Kun’s chest rather harshly, fixing his hair as he rushes to the door. Kun gets up as well, reaching at the back of their door before Ten violently yanks his hand away.

“What-”

“Why are you reaching for your cane?” Ten whisper-yells, furious, Kun just shrugs and gives him an obvious look. “That’s your son’s boyfriend!”

“And the guy a year ago was the mailman,” Kun replies back, still reaching for it, but Ten punches his shoulder _hard._ “Ow! Fine. Open the door.”

Ten gives him one final look before opening the door, seeing Yangyang and a very nervous looking Hendery on his side, fingers intertwined.

“Hello, darling! Come on in, come on in!” Ten greets sweetly, while Kun tries his best to give his friendly smile (he’s been practicing a lot) as both the kids come inside their house.

“Hendery, these are my parents,” Yangyang excitedly says, smiling when they’ve set aside in the living room. Hendery gives a little polite bow, still shy. “This is my dad, Ten; and this is my baba, Kun. Dad, baba, this is Hendery, my boyfriend.”

Kun thinks.

_Did I really just marry the man I tried to kill for three years, who when disappeared, I hunted down and chased in Osaka, settled down with him, murdered my boss when he denied to give me my separation pay, threatened to single-handedly take down a syndicate that tries to hunt him down, killed everyone who tried to assassinate the both of them, moved to Taiwan, then to Germany, and now permanently back in Korea, and I am now meeting my son’s boyfriend?_

The answer is yes.

**Author's Note:**

> i saw this tiktok where they said that the best plot of enemies to lovers was megamind so if the plot seems familiar to you it's because it's based off megamind. yes the one with the big blue head.


End file.
